


i'll set you free

by prosodiical



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Darcy Being Awesome, F/M, Gen, Originally Posted on Tumblr, PTSD, SHIP DARCY WITH ALL THE THINGS, Soulmates, Tumblr Prompts, darcy being darcy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 06:52:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1769692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosodiical/pseuds/prosodiical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Darcy-centric oneshots from Tumblr prompts I've written.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Darcy/Bucky, come dancing with me

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Darcy/Bucky - how about Bucky always asking her out but she is taking it as a joke - Anonymous

"Want to come dancing, doll?"

Darcy looked up from the data she was tabulating on her laptop to Bucky, leaning against the doorway to Jane’s lab. He was dressed to the nines and tapping one shiny shoe against the floor, an eyebrow quirked at her in question. Darcy rolled her eyes at him. “Yeah, no,” she said, but couldn’t help the edge of a smile touching her mouth. “You'll have to try harder. I’m on the clock.”

"Aw," said Bucky, good-naturedly, but before he could pester her any more JARVIS chimed in.

"Captain Rogers is looking for you, sir. Should I alert him as to your location?"

Bucky shifted on his feet, and Darcy shooed him. “Go on, get out of here. Have fun.”

"Would be more fun with you," he said, grinning, but left out the door, leaving Darcy to her work, hours of analysing data still to go. She sighed to herself, then took a moment to bury her head in her hands.

"God," she said to herself, "why does he keep doing that?" Thankfully, Jane was dozing off on the couch, so Darcy was left with wallowing in her own stupid mess with only her iTunes playlist for comfort.

Because it was Darcy’s fault, really.

 

After a week of puttering around in the communal kitchen for coffee and seeing the poor guy stuck on a couch when Steve was off on a mission, Googling aimlessly on a Starkpad or intensely watching the TV, Darcy decided to take matters into her own hands. So decided, she did what she did best - talking.

"What’re you stuck on today?" she asked, leaning over the edge of the couch to peer over his shoulder. "Ooh, moon landing. Don’t get stuck in the conspiracy theorist sites though, that’s a rabbit hole."

He looked at her sideways, a rather adorably confused look on his face, and Darcy said without thinking, “Wow, you're cute.” There was an awkward pause, and Darcy shored up her self-confidence, plastered on a smile and said, “Oh, sorry, forgot to introduce myself. Hi, I’m Darcy,” and gave a little wave.

There was something approaching a smile on his face, tugging at the corners of his eyes and mouth. “Bucky,” he said.

"Cool," said Darcy, and mentally checked her Jane-timetable. "You know what, Jane’s probably gonna crash in a few hours, I can come back and we can watch something fun for once. Harry Potter, maybe. Have you read Harry Potter?"

His eyebrows were creeping slowly up his forehead as she spoke, and he said carefully, “No.”

Darcy paused, thrown. “Well,” she recovered, “you've got, like, four hours. You’re a superguy, Tony’s probably got an e-book - “

"Indeed, Miss Lewis," JARVIS interjected, and they both nearly jumped. Well, Darcy actually jumped; Bucky kind of stiffened where he sat, staring at the ceiling like a ticking time-bomb. Darcy quickly continued,

"Yeah, okay, see? You can read it now - the first book’s pretty short - and then we can watch the movie!" She probably finished with too much enthusiasm - thanks, fight-or-flight response - because Bucky stared at her for a long moment, bemused.

"Okay," he said, after a moment, and Darcy smiled.

"Great! It’s a date."

Coffee acquired, contact established, Darcy checked her watch and decided to head back to Jane’s lab. Before she did, though, she was interrupted; Bucky said, considering, “That’s not a date.”

"Then what is?" Darcy asked, hiding her startlement. "Gonna take me out dancing, old-timer?"

"At least that’s a date," he said, Brooklyn seeping through his voice. "Gettin’ all dolled up, slow music, a pretty dame on your arm…"

"You romantic," Darcy scoffed. "Anyway, I can’t dance." Her phone chimed with an alert - the calculations Jane was running were done, Darcy better head down before Jane decided to try the device again without supervision - and she looked back up, gave him a grin. "Nice try, though. I’ll catch you later."

"Not a date," he called back, Darcy halfway to the elevator, and she ducked her head to hide her smile.

 

Their not-a-dates continued over the whole eight films, spaced out over two weeks to give Bucky a chance to read the books first, and Darcy had already been thinking about what to watch next for a few days. “Star Wars?” she suggested, sprawling out to the end of one of Stark’s sinfully comfortable couches. Bucky, relaxed on the other armrest two whole cushions away, gave her a questioning look. “It’s pretty relevant to pop culture, totally cheesy though. The special effects are hilarious.”

"If you come dancing with me tomorrow," he said, and Darcy huffed out a laugh.

"Good one," she said, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, weren't you having a thing with Steve and Nat? She was all excited - well, excited for her - for a night out on the town or something." They had gone off on a complete tangent; Darcy shook her head at herself and went back to her original question. "So, Star Wars, yes or no?"

 

From there, it became something of a joke; Bucky’d ask her out dancing at least once a week, leaving Darcy to sigh and shake her head and laugh it off. But she liked him - he was cute, he was growing back into a sense of humour to rival her own, he'd be ready with a quip when she snarked at him - and it was wearing on her, when she kind of wanted to date him for real.

Then she made the mistake of lamenting about it to Jane. “What if he means it?” Jane asked pragmatically, and Darcy shook her head vehemently.

"No way does he actually mean it," she denied, "and I really can't dance, it’s just," and she felt it well up, the mess she'd gotten herself into, a crush on a guy who’d ask her out just for laughs. Darcy bit her lip and looked down, and Jane said,

"Oh, Darcy," and wrapped her in a hug. Darcy took a couple deep breaths and squeezed Jane tight before letting her go. "If it’s bothering you, you're friends, right?" Jane asked. "Just ask him to stop."

"Yeah," said Darcy, "probably I should." She smiled, a little tremulously, and Jane sighed and gave her another quick hug.

"Or I could ask him," Jane suggested, "or I'll get Thor to."

"That'd… be kind of funny," Darcy said, through a surprise bout of giggles, the scenario playing itself out in her head. "Don't worry about it, though. I'll handle it."

"If you’re sure," said Jane, and at Darcy’s nod she gave her another smile and went back to her work.

 

A fuckload of courage was what Darcy needed for this, and so she was waiting in the kitchen and partaking of the (super-expensive, thank you Stark) liquid kind when Bucky finally dropped by. She started by saying, “Um, I need to ask you something - “

"I think we need to talk - " Bucky said, at the same time, and they both stopped. She gestured him over to the kitchen counter; he walked over and slid onto a barstool, turning to face her. There was a frown building up between his eyebrows, a little furrow there Darcy wanted to smooth away. "Sorry, but - I really should go first," he said.

"Uh," said Darcy, "okay, I guess."

Bucky started slowly, “You seem to be, uh, under the impression that I don’t actually want to go dancing with you,” and he stared at her, expression intense. “That’s not true.”

"I can't dance!" Darcy exclaimed, and was suddenly glad her glass was safely on the counter, because she felt like throwing something. "God." She moaned in overdramatic despair and dropped her head in her hands.

"Hey," said Bucky, "hey," and when she looked back up at him, he looked sheepish, a half-smile on his face. "That’s okay, you know. I was gonna sign us up for dance classes."

Darcy couldn't look at him. “Wow, you must think I'm an idiot,” she mumbled into her hands.

"I went about it wrong," he said, "it’s been a while."

And that didn't make Darcy feel much better about it all, but there was admittedly only so long she could feel sorry for herself when Bucky was really, truly wanting to go on a date with her.

"You really did," she said, lifting her head. "In this day and age, movies are totally acceptable dates - don't," she said, when Bucky looked like he was about to protest, "don't start, they really are, and if I count them up we are moving at a glacial pace here, so I'm claiming some recompense," and then, courage marshalled, she leaned forward and kissed him.

He kissed back, gentle and slow, and when Darcy pulled back it was with some regret. Bucky pulled her back, resting his forehead on hers, and said, “We okay?”

"Yeah," said Darcy. "I guess I can go dancing with you."


	2. Darcy/Steve - falling in love in a bookstore, it's such a cliche

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: darcy/steve, bookstore. could be skinny!steve, or serumysteve. go crazy. - Anonymous.

Darcy grabbed another book that looked promising, skimming through the pages. Most of it seemed familiar, words she had heard of, concepts she sort-of-but-not-quite understood, and when she stopped to read a chapter, it wasn't entirely snooze-worthy. One more for the pile then, and with five astrophysics books already stacked on the floor beside her, Darcy was set for another month or two.

She added the book to her pile, then tried to pick it up. It was heavy enough that she wouldn't be able to make it to the counter so she put them back down, grabbed the top two, and frowned at the rest of the stack. She'd have to do two or three trips to the counter, but leaving books in the aisle was probably a no-no.

"I can get that for you, ma'am, if you like."

Darcy whirled around, startled and wide-eyed. She was in a used bookstore which mainly catered for broke college students needing textbooks and splurging on novels instead, but it was the middle of summer and the shop was as empty as the New Mexico desert, so she hadn't expected to see anyone. The cute guy with floppy blonde hair and endearingly genuine blue eyes smiled at her scrutiny, raising his hands. “Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.”

"That’s okay," Darcy said, recovering from her surprise and smiling back. "I might take you up on that offer, actually."

He was a thin, wiry sort of guy, and strained a little carrying the remaining books - which Darcy somewhat belatedly realised were the heaviest of the lot. She laughed a bit, reaching out. “Here, let me,” she said, and swapped out one of the lighter books she was carrying for the heaviest on his stack. He frowned at her and said,

"I can handle it, ma’am," and Darcy shook her head and nudged him a little as she turned to head to the counter.

"Yeah," she said, smiling, "but you’re probably saving me two extra trips up and back - I can help out, at least."

He had a stubborn set to his mouth that reminded Darcy of herself, sometimes; that look in the mirror when nothing was quite going right but she had to carry on, anyway. “So, astrophysics?” he asked, a clear change in subject, glancing down at the titles in his arms.

Darcy nodded, feeling slightly self-conscious. “Yeah, my major was in Political Science, but… it’s a bit of a long story, but, well, I’m probably going to be stuck assisting astrophysicists for a while. I figured I should start learning.”

"Political science to astrophysics?" he said, smiling. "That’s quite a leap. Must be an interesting story."

Darcy laughed, amused. “You have no idea.”

He raised his eyebrows at her over the stack of books, the corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. “Oh, I might.”

They had reached the counter by then, and they dropped the stacks of books with a mutual sigh. The clerk, a bored-looking teenager on her phone, looked up at them in question, and Darcy motioned for her to ring them up on her card. She smiled at Mr. Mysterious then, leaning against the counter. “Thanks.”

"Don’t mention it," he said, ducking his head a little. Darcy bit her lip, resisting the urge to lift his chin up again, maybe give him a kiss on the cheek to see if he’d blush. She thought he would, red across his cheeks and on the tips of his ears; he’d probably look away, but with that tiny smirk lurking in the corners of his mouth, like he’d - and then she realised he was looking at her expectantly, waiting for an answer. Mentally rewinding, she vaguely recalled something about political science books.

"Uh, sure?" Darcy half-said, half-asked. The cashier pointedly cleared her throat and Darcy quickly rattled off her and Jane’s address for delivery, before following the guy curiously. He went down the aisles, and she noticed he had a small stack of slim books on a side table, primers on a whole collection of subjects. She paged through them - art history, astronomy, and biochemistry of all things - and shook her head, bemused.

"It’s a bit eclectic," he admitted, obviously anticipating her question. "But I, uh, got into a bit of an accident recently, and my friends told me to pick up some hobbies or something instead of sitting around moping at home."

Darcy laughed, coming to stand back beside him in front of the politics section, and gave him an exaggerated once-over. He stood at about a height with her, but straight-backed; it made him look taller than he was. “I don’t know,” she said, grinning, “you don’t look like a guy who can pull off the moping thing.”

"You’d be surprised," he said, smiling at her sideways, and Darcy had to forcefully remind herself that she was not an actress in a rom-com, and therefore it was totally inappropriate to go around kissing strangers in bookstores. She took a look over the politics section to distract herself, recognising quite a few from her studies.

"Here," she said, and pulled out a moderate-sized book, one she had found particularly useful in her freshman year. "It’s a good starter. Though, honestly, I'm not much of a political scientist anymore." She waved vaguely in the direction of the counter and her pile of astrophysics textbooks, and offered a wry smile.

"Hey," he said, and was suddenly looking at her with strange intensity, something that niggled at the edges of Darcy’s memory. "You're as much a political scientist as you want to be; you've studied it, you know it. You don't just lose that knowledge because you're taking another career path."

Darcy blinked a few times and looked away, letting out her breath in a long sigh. “Thanks,” she said, shakily. “I do think I needed to hear that.” She had spent far too much time between New Mexico and London wondering about the direction her life would have taken if not for that 6-credit point internship - but she had made her choice to stick with Jane instead of being bought off by the Men in Black, and there was no turning back. To hear that those four years at Culver, though useless when assisting Jane, were not useless to _her_ ; well. She smiled at him, hoping it conveyed a little of the gratitude she was feeling, and looked him over once more - that face, those bright, lovely eyes… “You look familiar,” she said, feeling a frown building itself up on her face, confusion to incredulity. “Like, I've definitely seen you before.”

He winced and turned away, running a hand over his face. “It was the voice, wasn't it?” he asked. “The voice, that voice, it always gets me,” just as Darcy said,

"You’re the Captain," and then realised she had used Thor’s moniker for him. "Um, of America, I mean. Oh man," she stumbled over her words, and felt even more awkward as she tried to recover. "Steve Rogers, right?"

He raised his shoulders in a shrug, hands shoved in his pockets. “Guilty as charged,” he offered, and smiled slightly. Darcy shook her head and laughed, still halfway to disbelief.

"Small world," she said. "I’m Jane Foster’s assistant - you know - "

"Thor’s astrophysicist," he said, and looked as startled as Darcy felt. "And you were - I'm sorry - "

"Oh, that’s my bad," Darcy said, "I’m Darcy Lewis." He held out his hand, and she put hers in his to shake it, but he brought it to his lips instead with a flourish.

"It’s an honour to meet you, Lady Darcy," he said, with the sort of mimicry Darcy knew came from sitting through too many of Thor’s epic ballads, and Darcy laughed.

"I don’t want to know the tales he tells you guys," she said, shaking her head, still grinning. "Thor’s grand soliloquies never end. Though, I guess that accident," she said, and gave him a look up-and-down. Sure, she could certainly now recognise him as Steve Rogers - and wonder why she didn't notice before - but he didn't look much like the man plastered over the news or across her history books.

"Yeah," he said, a little wryly. "Dr. Banner is working on it, but he and Stark are fairly sure it’s just magic that’ll have to wear off by itself."

"That must suck," said Darcy with some feeling. After coming back from Asgard, Jane had certainly been all for the idea that magic and science were interlinked and interchangeable, but none of their terminology matched up and honestly, Darcy was sure it’d take a few geniuses a fair few years to sort it all out. "I’m sorry."

"It’s not all bad," Steve said, smiling. "I get accosted less in the street. And, well," he said, and ducked his head again, "I met you."

"Well," said Darcy, "I’m in Jane’s lab all the time anyway, if you want to stop by." Then, feeling bold, Darcy stepped forward, tilted up his chin and kissed him, right there in the middle of the bookstore. She was right, he did blush; and when she leaned close to whisper, "Oh, and it wasn't your voice I recognised - it was your eyes," it went all the way down his neck, past the collar of his shirt. Darcy wanted to peel it off him to see just how far down that blush went, but instead she drew back and made a quick retreat. "I’ll see you later!" she called out over her shoulder as she nearly ran out of the store, but she didn’t miss him calling back:

"Oh, you certainly will!"


	3. Darcy/Bucky, this is when he knows he loves her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: DarcyxBucky, First time he knows he loves her - Anonymous
> 
> Warnings: Mentions of PTSD and Winter Soldier-related issues, light/minor and imagined violence against a domestic partner, light/minor strangulation.

The first time Darcy says she loves him, they've been dating for three months and sharing a bed despite his protestations for two, and then one night Bucky Barnes wakes up as the Winter Soldier and has his flesh hand around her throat before she can more than blink.

She stares at him, confused, still half-asleep. Like this, he could snap her neck in an instant or choke her to death in four minutes, but he can't remember his mission. He checks the room for threats - none - and then closes his eyes, trying to tease out the strains of memory he needs. He's never forgotten the mission before, and he can't start now.

The girl beneath him opens her mouth, and he says, "Don't shout or I'll kill you." For some reason, he thinks she looks familiar, but he can't place her as assigner or assignment. Her pulse is pounding beneath his hand, but she's clever enough to keep her breathing steady, and strangely, she doesn't look afraid.

"I just," she says, and chokes on the words as he warningly tightens the hand around her throat. "I wanted to say," she says, voice forced to a strangled whisper, "I love you."

She's not lying. 

The truth is there plain to see, written across her trusting face as she closes her eyes, her breathing turning sharp and shallow as her pulse flutters beneath his fingertips. He releases her then, because he doesn't understand, he doesn't know her but for the echo of a feeling lost in the maze of his twisted mind and he cannot remember the last time someone said they loved him. He isn't certain it ever happened, except it feels like it must have, because even weapons have keepers, because all people have parents and friends and lives and loves -

Steve. He remembers Steve then, and slowly things slot into place. An hour later, it's Bucky Barnes who comes to, wrapped in a fluffy blanket and with a beautiful, far-too-good-for-him dame running her fingers through his hair, murmuring indistinct, soothing words.

If Bucky could pinpoint it, this might be the moment he falls in love with her. Or it could be some other time, like during the day just following;

It might be at their fight where Bucky, frightened and furious, shouts, "I could have killed you!" and Darcy just stands there calmly, weathering his storm.

"You could have," Darcy agrees, "but, here's the thing. You didn't. You went full-on Winter Soldier, no memories, whatever - and you gave me a chance to talk you down."

Bucky rubs a hand over his face and says, "It might not work the next time."

Darcy just smiles at him then, coming up close to splay her hand across his cheek, to slowly trace the line of his jaw. "Maybe," she says, "but I think I have the trump card."

Bucky can remember what she had said, but whenever he opens his mouth to try and repeat it the words stick in his throat. He isn't sure, because what does someone like him know about love? Darcy presses a finger to his lips and says, "Shh, shh, you don't need to say it," and when he tries to voicelessly protest she steps in even closer until their bodies are flush together, noses bumping and breaths intermingling. Darcy says, then, "I said it because I meant it, and because I could, and because I wanted to, and because if there was anything you had lost back then, the very worst of it was love."

Bucky laughs, a hollow sound half-caught on a sob and he turns his head away even as Darcy presses a chaste kiss to the hollow of his throat and whispers, "I said it because I love you." Bucky can feel the rush of his pulse in his ears and the lump he has to swallow down his throat and Darcy just wraps her arms tighter around him and presses her smile into his skin.

Or maybe it's before that.

Maybe Bucky falls in love when he wakes up sweating and shaking at 3 in the morning and when he steps into the kitchen for a glass of water Darcy's there, lying on the couch in her pajamas, watching muted videos of animals on her laptop. She gestures him over and places her still-warm mug of hot chocolate in his hands, gently pushing him down on a cushion even as she stands to retrieve another mug for herself, from a pot kept warm on the stove. When she sits back down she leans back against him, her head on his shoulder and his arm finding itself naturally around her waist. She doesn't ask any questions or say even a word as she grabs her laptop back and puts a nature documentary on low volume, a steady low English voice and chirping birds filling up the background silence.

She doesn't expect anything of him, doesn't ask or press, and maybe it's the comforting warmth of her silence that means Bucky can open his mouth and talk, his voice sleep-roughened and low. She never wavers, never flinches away, and when his voice cracks she tangles their fingers together, flesh against metal, squeezing his hand in reassurance. Maybe it's then, looking down at her messy dark hair, the way she fits so perfectly into his side - maybe it's then that he falls more than a little in love.

Or it could be the first time he talks to her, her mere presence a light in the dark; it could be the time she pesters him until they're outside, going to all the museums, walking through all the parks, her laugh so infectious Bucky can almost forget he isn't quite whole; it could be the first time he has a bad day, when it's all he can do not to curl up in a corner and hide from the world but she stays, through his moodiness and coldness and fear; it could be when he walks into Foster's lab and hears the tail-end of an argument, Darcy shouting, " - whatever he's done, he's a good man!" or the stubborn set to her mouth when he tells her she shouldn't bother defending someone like him; or it could be simply Darcy, showing him cute cat videos or rolling her eyes at his old-fashioned mannerisms or poking him and teasing him and treating him like he's normal, like she isn't afraid of him, like he's just like everyone else.

Whenever it was, however long it's been, he can put a voice to it now.

"What're you thinking about?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow at him from where she's sprawled across their bed, miles of beautiful, bare skin on display. "You looked pretty deep in thought there."

"Oh, nothing much," says Bucky, and lets himself reach toward her, pull her into a slow, lingering kiss. When they break apart he says, for the first and certainly not last time, "I was just thinking about how much I love you."


	4. Darcy/Nick Fury - Soulmates AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Nick Fury/ Darcy - Name or first words or first touch design - name of true love on arm, or the first words they say too you, or first touch a symbol pattern appears on your body - Anonymous

When Nicholas Fury was seventeen he’d just about given up on ever getting a mark, which could only be a good thing; his ambitions wouldn’t wait for some true-fated romance bullshit. But then he woke up with _Shut up and let Steve talk down the brainwashed Russian assassin before you get killed - again_ curled around his bicep and he could only wonder.

It stuck with him through his quick rise through SHIELD’s ranks, through Pierce’s recommendation that secured his position as Director. If he was honest with himself (and he usually was), the words on his arm were the only reason he didn’t have the Black Widow killed on sight, supposed defection be damned. But while he had a brainwashed Russian assassin under his employ there was no one named Steve she’d let talk her down, and by that time Nick was almost friendly with her; friendly enough to know she’d think twice about shooting to kill.

Though, he had often wondered, how many brainwashed Russian assassins could there be? Natasha’s history and training were pretty goddamned unique, and to her hear her say it the rest of them were retired or dead. In the end, Nick kept her life off the books and she gave him a lifetime spy’s insight to tricky situations over dinner, and that was that. But it was their friendship that let him know when she received an assignment that hadn’t passed through his office; that alerted him to the fact that not all was right with SHIELD at its core.

Then he got shot five times through the chest, faked his death and only survived thanks to a doctor on the inside patching him up for transport, and the next time he saw Rogers and Natasha they were telling him all about the Winter Soldier - who used to be Bucky Barnes. He raised an eyebrow at Natasha, who inclined her head a miniscule amount. It was who he thought it was, then. The words on his arm itched, and when Rogers left Natasha said, “Should I kill him?”

"Can you kill him?" Nick asked, eyebrows raised. "From what I hear, it didn’t turn out so well the first time."

She stared back at him, expression blank. “I could.”

"Good," said Nick, feeling satisfied, leaning further back against the wall and ignoring the pain spiking through his abdomen. "You won’t need to. I have a different plan for us, here’s what I need you to do…"

With the collapse of SHIELD, Nick had a far bigger thing to worry about: cleaning house. A year later, after Rogers had apparently convinced Barnes back to civilisation and Stark to house him, he knew he’d been putting off going back. It wasn’t a sure thing, but in the presence of Barnes and Rogers it seemed almost inevitable he’d meet the person who’d say those words; he just wasn’t sure he wanted to. But Hydra was as disbanded as Nick could get them, all the rogue SHIELD agents collected or dead, and there was nothing for it.

So a few days later Nick found himself in the elevator in Stark’s tower. It stopped, he stepped out, and he barely had time to register Barnes - the Winter Soldier - raising a gun as Rogers stepped in between them when he was pulled down with surprising force, down and behind a conveniently positioned couch.

Nick scowled at the girl - young, civilian, vaguely familiar, probably Foster’s intern if he wasn’t mistaken - and was about to say something along the lines of _what the fuck?_ or _who the hell thought giving him a weapon was a good idea?_ when she hissed through her teeth, “Shut up and let Steve talk down the brainwashed Russian assassin before you get killed - again.”

Apparently satisfied she had made her point, she took a quick peek around the edge of the couch and winced before sliding back down to the carpet. Still fairly stunned, Nick said in a low voice, “You’re a fucking teenager.”

She gave him a surprised, disbelieving look over her shoulder. “Shut up,” she whispered furiously, “god, and I’m twenty-five, thank you very much,” and she shook her head, rolling her eyes, and returned to monitoring the situation.

Young, sharp-tongued and disinclined to respect authority; Nick thought, _this’ll be a challenge,_ but he was surprised to find he was actually looking forward to it.


	5. Darcy/Fury - Soulmates AU Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka, the follow-on that was requested a few times by a few people.

By the time Darcy Lewis was twenty, she was fairly sure the words marching up her thigh and across her hip were some sort of joke. That, or her apparent soulmate was an asshole, which she couldn't entirely discount; regardless, You're a fucking teenager no longer applied. As a girl who had grown up with the vague idea that she'd meet her soulmate before she hit the big 2-0, it was a fair disappointment.

But Darcy wasn't the type of person to mope, and she had never been the sort to plan her life around the chance of meeting one person anyway, so she continued on with her studies and let her quietly harbored dreams of being important, of one day being able to affect change to the world grow larger and carry her through. When she met whoever-it-was, she decided, she was not going to give them the benefit of a positive reaction, and that was that.

But then six credit points from graduation, Darcy picked up a summer internship with a pretty astrophysicist named Jane Foster. Jane's words, Darcy discovered about a week in when Jane started rolling up her sleeves, were written up her forearm, in another language Jane said she had pinned as a middle precursor to Old Norse.

"It's 'Where am I?', as far as I can tell," said Jane, perfectly willing to answer Darcy's tentative question. "But," she added, and shrugged. "What's the likelihood of finding someone whose native language is Old Norse?"

Darcy said without thinking, "Most people would've gone into languages, with that."

"Yes, and I thought about it," said Jane, and looked down at the words on her forearm, her fingers tracing the script. "But astrophysics is where I want to be - where I've always wanted to be, and if someone who's supposed to be my soulmate doesn't get that..."

"Yeah," said Darcy, smiling at her tentatively, "I get it. I've never let mine change what I want to do, where I want to be." But even as she said it, she wasn't sure - because how could she tell, with something that had haunted her all her life? Darcy had welcomed adulthood and independence with open arms, wanting more than ever to shake the concept of her as some silly teenager. Darcy, who had been excluded from swim classes in school for the profanity on her thigh but was teased and taunted after a girl had caught a glimpse in the locker room, had run to college with cynicism in her heart but the sky in her dreams, and who knew how much of it was really her? Who knew how different she'd be? "Well," she said, after a moment, "I've tried not to, anyway."

Jane gave her an understanding smile, and from then on, they were friends.

Of course, a few months later Jane's worry about her words were all for naught - the buff blond guy (who Darcy would swear had actually dropped out of the sky, was this actually her life) - the first time he had a chance to talk to her, immediately said, "Where am I?"

"New Mexico," said Darcy, eyeing Jane carefully. She looked almost in shock; Darcy wrapped her arm around Jane's elbow for support. "I'm Darcy Lewis, this is Dr. Foster, who are you?"

"Foster?" the space alien asked, looking surprised, then delighted. "Not, Jane Foster?" and he proffered his left wrist to Darcy's inspection.

"Hey, Jane," Darcy said, feeling a wide smile spread across her face as she looked at it, "you didn't happen to sign this guy's wrist, did you?"

Eventually they got sorted, Jane and Thor dragged out of their far too enthusiastic public displays of affection into some semblance of order, and it came out that Thor was officially not just a space alien but a space alien prince, who had been banished for a while but needed to recover his hammer Mew-Mew. He got it, eventually, after the crazy laser robot and the almost-dying thing, but in the end, Thor had to return home to stop his space alien brother from taking over the world, or something. Darcy missed most of the details, except the way Jane's face crumpled when he left, the remnants of the rainbow bridge in his wake.

"Hey," Darcy said, and linked their arms together. Jane blinked up at her, on the edge of tears, and Darcy said, "Guess you're going to have to build us one of those, huh?"

"Guess so," Jane said, her voice wavering a little, but then she smiled and started ordering Darcy to get all her instruments so she didn't miss the space-residue, or whatever it was, so it ended up okay overall.

Then Darcy graduated, got stuck in job-limbo and got a call from Jane again, and things kind of snowballed from there. There was London, and then SHIELD apparently was evil, but then didn't exist anymore thanks to Captain America, and Darcy had never been more glad Jane's funding was private. Thor came back for semi-good and he had a place in Avengers Tower, and then of course Jane had to go along, and because Darcy was semi-employed by Jane, she came along too, and life ended up being sort of weird.

It got weirder when Agent iPod-Stealer appeared in front of her one day when she was out getting some space in a local café. "Darcy Lewis," he said, "Bachelors in Political Science from Culver University, Masters in International Relations and Politics from Cambridge," and he raised an eyebrow at her. Darcy raised her eyebrows back, unphased.

"Not much else to do in London, you know, space aliens and portals aren't exactly a daily thing. Are you trying to scout me?"

"Not exactly," he said, and pushed forward a slim manila folder. "There's a gap in the world's defenses, now that SHIELD is gone," he said, his voice steady and impressively bland. "We're trying to fill that gap."

"Didn't work out so well for you, did it?" Darcy asked, but flipped open the folder anyway. "What, SWORD? You're pushing the acronym thing here."

He shrugged. "Wasn't exactly my department," he said, and offered her a small smile. "What do you think?"

"I think," Darcy said with some force, and pushed the folder back. "I think, if you guys can keep complete transparency, if you can assure me there's no fucking Nazis in your little organisation, if you know that defense is not 'keeping a bigger gun than the other guy'... then, I'll think about it."

His smile turned a little wry. "Fair enough," he said, picking the folder back up and rising to his feet. "Oh, by the way, don't mention this conversation to anybody."

"What, or you'll neuralise me?" Darcy called back, but he had already disappeared amongst the business crowd, one suit amongst the others.

But he kept coming back, for whatever reason. "Don't you have a boss already?" Darcy exclaimed, two months into their weekly coffee dates, and Coulson shook his head.

"He died," he said, and then amended, "well, officially. Unofficially he's off the grid, clearing out Hydra bases and SHIELD agents."

"You mean Hydra agents," Darcy said, shaking her head, and Coulson gave her a look.

"We've had an influx in SWORD members recently," he said calmly, "fully vetted, of course. I even have their full psychological profiles," and he made to pull out a folder when Darcy waved her hands at him, horrified.

"No, no," she said hurriedly. "Fury'll come back, right? It can wait for him, can't it?"

"Last I heard, he was looking to retire," said Coulson. "Taking a holiday, maybe finding his long-lost soulmate..." he trailed off when Darcy gave him an unimpressed look, and sat forward, suddenly intent. "Look, Darcy, if SWORD wants to do what SHIELD did wrong, it needs a head that can also be a figurehead; look at Potts," he said, "people actually like Stark Industries now, because she's CEO and a figurehead - for defense and protection and making the world a better place. You're young, fresh-faced, you're friends with the Avengers, which is the only group with good press at the moment, you've got the best team of bodyguards anyone could ask for already on call - "

"'I'm young, fresh-faced'," said Darcy, "that'll translate into inexperience pretty fast, you know. And I'm definitely not experienced - god, my main work experience is scientist-herding."

"We'll bring you in slowly," Coulson said earnestly, or as earnestly as he ever got. "And, I'm sure Nick'll be happy to show you the ropes," and his mouth gave a little twitch, like he knew something Darcy didn't. Darcy put two and two together and came up with -

"Wait," she said, startled, "you think he's my soulmate?" It was something she hadn't seriously thought about for - years, now - just something she occasionally frowned over in the mirror when she was tired, or scrubbed at too hard in the shower when she forgot it wasn't just a splotch of dirt. Darcy's life was entirely too full to spend much time on it, except, apparently, now.

"The doctor who treated him marked it down in his file, and there's a specific - uh - "

"Yeah," Darcy interrupted, "I say something stupid, right? Well, he does too, the asshole," but remembering it reminded her of her long-ago dreams, the way she used to want so much and so hard, and when had she lost that? When did Darcy Lewis decide to give up a prime opportunity to do achieve her dreams? " - actually, you know, I'll think about it. The SWORD thing," she clarified, and smiled.

And then Captain America came back with his best friend turned Russian assassin Bucky Barnes and everyone had to tiptoe quietly around the tower for a while. He'd been set off by Natasha twice already - apparently they had some history - but Steve always hovered around to talk him down, and bit by bit he was getting better.

Unfortunately seeing one of his last targets alive again caused a revert; Darcy grabbed Fury's arm and dragged him behind one of the couches, all of the scattered around for 'just-in-case' scenarios. Steve was there, already stepping between them, but Fury looked like he was about to say something, stupid, stupid - "Shut up and let Steve talk down the brainwashed Russian assassin before you get killed - again," she hissed, and after a pause realised she had apparently stunned him into silence. A peek around the couch revealed Steve's hand was on Bucky's arm; he was obviously saying something that was working, because the eerie blank stillness of the Winter Soldier was slowly retreating.

"You're a fucking teenager," he said lowly, and even with the words written on her, even with the knowledge he was apparently the one to say them, she still couldn't quite believe he'd actually said it. She gave him a look that she hoped conveyed her feelings on the matter.

"Shut up," she whispered sharply, "god, and I'm twenty-five, thank you very much," and shook her head, rolling her eyes at him as she turned back to check on the situation. Bucky was calming down, Steve seemed to be relaxing, and Darcy chanced another look at Fury.

This was the man who Coulson looked up to, who Natasha talked about with a fond look in her eyes; there was a smattering of grey in his hair and the sunglasses didn't do much to hide the wicked scar across one eye, but there was a sheer physical power to him that wasn't entirely hidden by casual clothes and an affected slouch. This was also the man, Darcy reminded herself, who had discovered Hydra's infiltration, facilitated the destruction of SHIELD, and then cleaned up their mess; honestly, she could do a lot worse.

Fury, apparently actually taking her order into account this time, just raised an eyebrow at her scrutiny. Darcy gave him an easy shrug in response, and then, her mouth curling into a smirk, "So, have you heard much about the Sentient World Observation and Response Department?"

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found at my [Tumblr](http://prosodiical.tumblr.com/), prompts are open!


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